


Care

by pensversusswords



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Belated birthday fic for yuri plisetsky, Bonding, Domestic Fluff, Family Dynamics, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Bullying, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 12:30:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10360548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pensversusswords/pseuds/pensversusswords
Summary: When Yuri is in trouble, he calls the last person anyone would have expected—a certain Katsuki Yuuri.It turns out that Viktor and Yuuri will always be there for him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write some Viktor and Yuuri taking care of their son Yuri, and I had the idea of Yuri coming to Yuuri when he's in trouble and it made me really happy so. This happened. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

Growing up, Yuri missed out on a lot of things other kids took for granted.

His parents and Grandpa wanted him to have some sense of normalcy in his life, so he attended school with his peers, but even then he had very limited free time, as he was almost always either practicing with Yakov or spending time with his Grandpa. As a result, he's never had a whole lot of friends—acquaintances yes, but he suspected that a lot of his peers found him strange and unapproachable. It bothers him a bit (more than he's willing to admit, even to himself) but it's unavoidable. His main priority is skating, and if making friends with his classmates doesn't factor into that, then so be it. 

Usually this means he spends his birthday with his Grandpa. He's more than okay with this; they spend the day making all of Yuri's favourite foods, playing board games, and last year Yuri took his Grandpa to the skating rink and tried to teach him how to skate. It’d turned out that his Grandpa didn’t exactly have a knack for skating, and absolutely refused to use one of those skating aids to keep him upright. Instead, they went and got blinis, and all in all it’d been a perfect birthday.

But this year, his Grandpa suggests he go spend some time with his friends, and they can spend some time together the day before. His Grandpa seems pleased and hopeful at the prospect of Yuri hanging out with some friends his own age, so he reluctantly calls a few rink mates he's friendly enough with that it's not strange for him to ask them to hang out, and just like that he has plans for his sixteenth birthday.

Those “plans” involve hanging out with several rink mates at one of their houses—his name is Dimitri and according to him, his parents don’t care too much what he gets up to on weekends as long as he keeps up on his grades and his skating, so they can do what they like with no adult supervision. Within five minutes of Yuri arriving, they're all welcoming him with cheers and wishing him a happy birthday, and there’s a bottle of kvass being thrust into his hands. Dimitri pats him roughly on the back, tells him he’s glad he asked them to hang out, and suddenly there’s music on so loud that the walls are shaking and Yuri can hardly hear him anymore. Mila is there, which shouldn’t surprise him much. She greets him with a sly grin and a jab in the ribs before throwing an arm over his shoulders and jostling him. He gives her a grumpy “ugh, stop it” when she kisses his cheek and tells him “happy birthday, you little asshole,” which only makes her laugh before sauntering away. Probably to go harass someone else, he figures, glaring after her. 

(He’d seen her earlier that day and she’d given him his birthday present, and he’d grunted out the best thank you he was able to manage. He’d genuinely appreciated it, so he knew that now she was just messing with him to get under his skin, as always, but. Still.)

Yuri hasn’t really been drunk before, but he rectifies that pretty quickly, the bottle of kvass being the first of many drinks he has over the course of the evening. He’s sitting down listening to another rink mate talk about some movie that’s coming out next month that he hopes he gets a chance to see—his name is Ivan and he doesn’t know him too well, and honestly he’s hardly listening to what he’s saying, because out of nowhere, the entire room is spinning around him even though he is sitting, and everyone’s voices are fuzzy and very far away. He’s pretty sure if he stands up, he’s going to fall face first onto the floor. 

It’s about then when the evening starts going south.

Well, no. It goes south all at once, in a mighty crescendo, and any remnants of enjoyment that Yuri might have found in the evening are shattered around him in a matter of moments.

“So,” Dimitri says, sitting down next to Yuri heavily, bumping into his side. Yuri feels the room tilt around him and he sways. “What made you decide to call us to hang out? You’re always turning us down when we ask you to hang out.”

Yuri shrugs. “Thought it’d be fun,” he mumbles.

“You’re sixteen now, right?” Yuri nods, and Dimitri continues, “you didn’t come to my seventeenth birthday celebration last month.”

“I was busy,” Yuri says. “Practicing.”

“Oh, of course,” Dimitri says. Everything feels like static on the TV, so he can’t be quite sure, but he thinks that Dimitri scoffs. He’s not sure how to process that. Dimitri takes a swig of his drink. “You’re always practicing, aren’t you?” He slurs the end of the sentence, and Yuri thinks it’s supposed to be a question, but the way he says it really doesn’t sound like one.

Yuri shrugs again, doesn’t answer.

“His majesty thought he would finally grace us with his presence,” Ivan shouts from the other couch. “He stepped down off the podium to mingle with us lesser mortals.”

Just like that, Yuri very suddenly does not want to be there anymore. 

“Lay off him, Ivan,” Mila snaps. Yuri had almost forgotten she was there; she’s been off chatting with other people for the last little while, and the sound of her voice startles him a little bit.

“What?” Ivan laughs. “We’re just teasing him.”

“Yeah,” Dimitri agrees, “come on, we’re just surprised that Mr. Gold Medalist wanted to be in our presence on his birthday.”

Yuri stands up quickly, which turns out to be a very, very bad idea. The room spins around him at an alarming pace, and he would have definitely fallen over if Mila didn’t dart across the room in time to brace her hands under his arm and hold him upright.

“Careful, dummy, don’t fall,” Mila scolds him.

Yuri grunts and otherwise ignores her. He glares at the floor instead of the two boys who are now cackling uproariously.

“I don’t need this crap,” he snaps. Or, he tries to, but the words come out too slow and feel too round and soft in his mouth, so he doesn’t think they land with the heat he intends them to have.

“He can win a gold medal but he can’t hold his liquor.” Ivan snorts. “That’s priceless.”

“Shut your trap or I’ll shut it for you,” Mila practically shouts, still right next to Yuri’s ear. Yuri rears away from her loud voice and wobbles.

Ivan and Dimitri are laughing even harder now, and a few curious eyes have turned their way, assessing the situation unfolding. Yuri isn’t sure if it’s the liquor or the fact that they’re all staring at him while these two dumbasses laugh at him, their voices seething with jealousy and their mouths curled with dislike that Yuri had apparently missed earlier in the evening, but Yuri’s stomach turns uncomfortably. His skin prickles under everyone’s gaze. 

“Whatever, assholes,” Yuri grumbles. “I’m leaving.”

“Aw, can’t even stick out a whole evening with us, huh? Well at least now we know what you think of us, Plisetsky!”

Yuri is about to fire something back at them, but then he stumbles, and Mila tucks his arm through hers and starts leading him away. “Let’s go,” she tells him firmly, “I’ll deal with them later.”

“I can handle them myself,” Yuri counters, but allows Mila to lead him through the apartment to the front door.

She keeps her arm linked through his while they’re on the elevator and making their way out of the building, and Yuri isn’t going to admit it out loud, but he’s really grateful for the solidity of her against his side. She’s slender and not overly imposing at a glance, but she’s corded with lean muscle and Yuri isn’t large himself, so she is more than capable of keeping Yuri standing.

Once outside, she lets him lean against the brick wall of the building and stands aside. 

“Give me your phone,” she says, reaching out to him.

“No.” Yuri glares at her hand. “Why do you want it?”

“Don’t be a brat. So I can call someone to come get you.”

“I can do it myself,” Yuri says stubbornly. Mila holds up both hands in defeat.

It takes much longer than necessary, but Yuri manages to get his phone out of his pocket, and, after four tries, he gets his password right and unlocks it. He opens his contacts and starts scrolling, hardly even thinking about it until he finds the right one.

Yuuri picks up on the third ring, his voice muffled and bleary with sleep. “Hello? Yurio?”

“Katsudon,” Yurio mumbles, “I need… can you…”

Yuri pauses right there when his voice unexpectedly cracks and comes out a little bit warbled. He frowns and squints his eyes shut, draws in a shuddering breath.

“Yurio?” There’s more rustling on Yuuri’s end of the call, and Yuri thinks he can hear a second questioning voice in the background. Yuuri’s voice is much more alert and awake now, his words sharpened with what Yurio thinks must be concern. “What’s wrong, are you all right?”

“I’m—” Yuri’s voice cracks again and he makes a frustrated noise. He is  _not_ going to cry over some stupid assholes. He's  _not._

“Yurio? Tell me what’s wrong.” 

Yuri is just opening his mouth again to answer when Mila reaches over and pries the phone out of his hand and puts it to her own ear. “Hi, Yuri is really drunk and he needs someone to come pick him up.” 

“Mila,” Yuri hisses, reaching for the phone, but she swats his hand away and he nearly pitches forward face first, so instead of protesting more he relents and leans back against the wall again. 

He doesn’t really pay much attention to the rest of the conversation, just catches fuzzy bits and pieces of Mila telling Yuuri where they are and how to get there, saying goodbye. Yuri focuses on willing the nausea in his stomach away. 

After she hangs up, Mila tucks Yuri’s phone back in his sweater pocket for him and leans against the wall next to him. “He’s on his way.”

“Okay.”

They stand in silence for a few moments before Mila continues with: “they’re jerks, don’t listen to anything they say.” 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Yuri bites out.

He feels rather than sees Mila lift her shoulders in a shrug beside him. She doesn’t answer.

After a long moment, Yuri forces out a rough, “thanks.” 

Mila nudges him. “You’re welcome, brat.”

They don’t talk after that—they just stand side by side and wait for Yuuri to come.

***

Yuuri hangs up the phone with a frown etched between his brows. He sets his phone down on the bedside table, and turns to Viktor, who is blinking sleepily but peering at Yuuri with concern and confusion on his face as he scratches behind a sleeping Makkachin’s ears.

“Yurio went out with some friends,” Yuuri explains. He hesitates before adding: “I think he’s really drunk. He needs me to come get him.”

Viktor’s face lights with understanding, but the concern doesn’t fade. “Okay, I’ll get dressed and we can go.”

Yuuri shakes his head. “He called me, Viktor,” Yuuri says softly. “I don’t think that was an accident. I think maybe I should go myself.”

Viktor frowns, clearly unhappy with this suggestion. “But—“

“You know Yurio doesn’t want to disappoint you,” Yuuri continues, reaching out to take one of Viktor’s hand in his own. “He sounded… really upset. He might not want you to see him like this.” 

Viktor looks like he’s about to protest some more, but then he relents with a sigh and a nod. “Okay, sweetheart,” he says. He lifts their joined hands to his face and brushes a soft kiss onto the back of Yuuri’s hand briefly. “But keep me posted, okay? Let me know when you get him.”

“Of course,” Yuuri agrees, squeezes Viktor’s hand once more and slides out of bed.

He gets dressed quickly, throws on the first coat he can find in the foyer—Viktor’s, he realizes when he’s already out the door and unlocking the car, it’s a bit baggy around the shoulders and the sleeves extend far too long. He pats his pocket to make sure his phone is accounted for, and pulls it out to send a text Yurio’s way to let him know that he’s on his way. Just as he sends the text, one pops up on the screen:

> **_viktor_ _(*´_ _♡_ _`*)_ **
> 
> _get our boy home safe, love <3_

Yuuri fires off a quick “ _of course <3_” before tucking his phone away again and starting the car.

Thanks to the help of the GPS Viktor got for him to give Yuuri directions through the foreign streets of St Petersburg, he manages to find the apartment building without getting lost after about a ten minute long drive. His heart sinks a little bit when he pulls up and sees two familiar figures slumped against the wall near the entrance.

He stops in front of them and kills the engine, gets out of the car quickly.

Mila waves at him when she sees him and smiles. “Hi, Yuuri! Sorry for calling so late.”

“No need to apologize,” Yuuri says sincerely, already making a beeline for Yuri, who barely even looks awake and like he’s two seconds from keeling over. “Yurio knows to call whenever he needs something.” 

“Katsudon,” Yuri mumbles, slumping against Yuuri’s side as soon as Yuuri slips an arm over his shoulders.

“Oh, Yurio,” Yuuri says quietly. Yuri’s eyes are a little red and he’s not even keeping up the normal façade of staring Yuuri. He looks exhausted.

“If you tell anyone about this, I’ll kill you,” Yuri says.

Yuuri pats his shoulder with a sigh. “Uh huh, I know, Yurio. Let’s get you home, okay?”

Thankfully, Yuri doesn’t protest. He allows Yuuri to lead him into the car, puts on his seatbelt and immediately flops against the car door when Yuuri closes it. Yuuri notes that this is the quietest he’s ever seen him.

He sends a quick text to Viktor that reads: 

> _got him. on our way. get the guest room ready for him? thanks darling. <3_

He takes Mila home before heading back to their own apartment. The whole while, Yuuri finds himself glancing over at Yuri worriedly, who is very stubbornly not meeting his gaze. He looks smaller than usual, huddled in his leopard print sweater, arms crossed over his chest and his blond hair falling over his face. Not for the first time that night, Yuuri thinks that something must have happened earlier. Yuri is drunk, yes, but this seems like more than that.

They’ve just dropped off Mila and are almost back to Viktor and Yuuri’s apartment when Yuri speaks for the first time since getting in the car, his voice pitched high with something panicked and urgent.

“меня тошнит.”

“Sorry, what was that Yuri?” 

One of Yuri’s hands flies to his mouth and he speaks again. “’m gonna throw up.”

“Oh!”

Thankfully, Yuuri pulls over in time and, after a moment of Yuri fumbling with the door handle, he reaches across and shoves the door open, just in time for Yuri to lean over and get sick on the side of the road. 

“You’re okay,” Yuuri says soothingly, reaching out to rub a hand across Yuri’s back in a slow, steady motion. He reaches for the glove compartment, rummages around until he finds one of the hair ties Viktor started stashing everywhere since he started growing his hair out again. Clumsily, he gathers Yuri’s hair up into a sloppy bun to keep it out of his face.

When Yuri finishes a few unpleasant moments later, he slowly pulls the car door closed and leans his head back against the headrest, his chest heaving a bit as he tries to catch his breath.

“Are you okay now?” Yuuri asks. His heart is clenching in his chest. Yuri looks absolutely _miserable._

Yuri nods weakly, his eyes falling closed.

Yuuri pats his shoulder again. “Okay. Let’s get you home and into bed.”

When they get back to the apartment, Viktor and Makkachin are sitting in the living room, curled up together on the couch, Viktor with a thick blanket wrapped around his shoulders. “You’re back!” he says, standing up as they walk in. “How’s Yuri feeling?”

Makkachin lets out an excited bark and jumps off the couch to greet them.

“He’ll be just fine. Hi baby, we’re home,” Yuuri says, crouching down to pat Makkachin and scratch his ears. “But you need to be quiet, okay? Yuri isn’t feeling well.”

“’m fine,” Yuri mumbles. “Just tired.”

“You’re not fine,” Yuuri says shortly, getting to his feet again. “There’s a spare toothbrush in the top drawer in the bathroom, you should brush your teeth while I get you some water.”

“Don’t want any,” Yuri grumbles, but he obliges, wobbling his way down the hallway, one hand against the wall to support him as he walks. 

“You need to drink water,” Yuuri says firmly. “Do you need help with anything?” He doesn’t get a response from Yuri, who’s already ducking into the bathroom and closing the door behind him. 

Yuuri sighs. He turns to Viktor and gives him a tired smile. “You could’ve gone back to sleep, you know?”

“I wasn’t going to do that, silly,” Viktor answers. He steps forward and wraps his arms around Yuuri’s shoulders and kisses Yuuri’s mouth quickly before drawing him into a warm hug. Yuuri melts into the embrace. “We deal with this stuff together, right?”

“Mmm,” Yuuri hums in agreement. He buries his face in Viktor’s shoulder. “You’re right.”

“Besides, I don’t like sleeping in our bed when you’re not there,” Viktor continues. “It’s lonely.”

“You sap,” Yuuri admonishes, but he’s not complaining. He burrows deeper into Viktor’s warmth. “You were worried.”

Viktor nods. “Of course I was. I still am. Did he say what was wrong?”

“This is _Yurio_ we’re talking about, remember?” 

“Right, right. Well, the best we can do is be there for him, right?”

“Mmm,” Yuuri agrees tiredly, nods against Viktor’s shoulder. That’s the best they can do, and Yuuri resolves to do it as well as he can. He knows Viktor will too. 

***

Yuri wakes up to the smell of breakfast heavy in the air and a headache throbbing violently in his temples. 

He groans and opens his eyes tentatively, and is dismayed to discover that that makes his head hurt even more. His eyes snap shut again, fending off the evil bright light shining in through the window. Darkness gives him a little bit of relief, at least.

It takes just about that long for it all to come back to him, and it hits him all at once. Dimitri. Ivan. The unpleasant birthday gathering.

Yuri pulls the blankets back over his head and wishes he could will himself out of existence for a little while. His stomach rolls in discomfort, and he thinks that it only has half to do with the nausea that is churning his stomach right now. Their words and contempt rattle around in his head in all their harsh glory. 

He tires of thinking about it quickly—what use is there in thinking about them now? He braces himself and opens his eyes, rolling over to peer over at the nightstand. 10:14 am, he reads. There’s a glass of water sitting next to the alarm clock, along with an Advil and a note that reads “ _take me! :)_ ”. His phone is there too, plugged into the wall with a charger that’s definitely not his own.

Ugh. Why are they _like this_. They don't need to be so  _nice._

Because his head is killing him, he listens to the instructions on the note, in the hopes that it will give him some relief. He drinks three quarters of the glass of water, thinks about Yuuri admonishing him later for not drinking the whole thing, and finishes off the rest… because he’s thirsty, though. Not because he doesn’t want to worry Yuuri or anything. That would be silly. 

After a few minutes of willing himself to get out of bed, he finally manages. He tucks his phone into the pocket of borrowed pajama pants—head hurts too much to check his messages right now—and slides out of bed. He nabs one of the blankets and pulls it over his shoulders before starting to make his way out of the room.

“Good morning!” Viktor greets him with his arms spread wide, a smile plastered on his face. He has a spatula in one hand and he’s wearing an apron. Yuri would roll his eyes if he wasn’t worried his head might explode from the effort. “I made our guest breakfast!”

“Viktor wanted to make you a big breakfast,” Yuuri explains from where he’s sitting at the island in the middle of the kitchen, in plaid pyjama pants, sipping a mug of tea. He almost looks apologetic. “Because he doesn’t understand the concept of getting a hangover. But I went to the store this morning and got you some crackers in case your stomach is still upset and you wanted them.” Yuuri gestures to a package of crackers sitting on the counter. 

Yuri nods and starts shuffling over to fetch them.

He glances over at Viktor, who is standing next to a pile of blinis, and a plate of syrniki, and it must be the hangover or something, because he feels a little guilty when he sees a fleeting look of disappointment on Viktor’s face before it’s replaced with his bright smile.

“No problem,” Viktor says, waving the spatula. “If you want it, it’s here but I’m sure you’re not feeling hungry yet!”

Yuri hesitates. Then, “I’ll have some later, if you save me some.”

Viktor beams, and nods happily. This time, Yuri _does_ roll his eyes. He begins to start munching on his crackers, accepting the cup of tea Yuuri hands him.

“I called your parents,” Yuuri tells him. “Don’t worry, I didn’t tell them about last night. But I told your mom that you’d be hanging out with us today, if you want to stay here until you feel better.” 

Yuri doesn’t even have to think about it. He nods gratefully—he doesn’t even want to think about going home and having to act like he’s not hungover for the whole day, especially around his Grandpa. He doesn’t like lying to him. 

Yuuri looks pleased with this. “Good.” 

And that’s how Yuri finds himself on the day after his birthday, sitting in the Katsuki-Nikiforov breakfast nook, eating crackers and drinking tea. Viktor and Yuuri chat amicably back and forth and don’t make Yuri participate in the conversation, for which he is eternally grateful. He tunes in and out, listening to them here and there, mostly lost in his own thoughts as he waits for the throbbing in his head to fade.

It turns out that the spending the day together thing wasn’t a lie; after Viktor takes Makkachin for a walk and Yuuri cleans up the kitchen with a bit of help from Yuri, Yuuri suggests that they spend the afternoon watching movies together. Unable to think of a reason not to, Yuri ends up sitting next to them on the couch, squeezed in next to Makkachin as the opening of The Lion King fills the room. Disney movies are meant for hangover days and sick days, Viktor explains like it's an absolute fact. Yuuri just shrugs in response to Yuri's raised brow, and gives Viktor a besotted smile, like that’s the most adorable thing he’s ever heard. Gross.

Once they’re settled on the couch, he opens his phone to find a text waiting for him from the night before. It’s from Otabek.

> **_otabek_ **
> 
> _happy birthday little tiger. see you next time i’m in russia._

Yuri’s heart clenches, but this time its not in a bad way. Through the thick fog of his hangover, his low spirits lift a little bit, to think that Otabek had remembered that it was his birthday and felt compelled to send him a message. He'll even let the nickname slide this time. 

Even if his rink mates don’t think much of him, there are some people who _do_ care about him.

“What are you smiling at?” Viktor voice brings him out of his thoughts. He looks up to see both Viktor and Yuuri watching him, Viktor with bright, questioning eyes, and Yuuri with mild curiosity.

“None of your business,” he grumbles, but there’s not much heat behind it. Viktor shrugs and turns back to the TV, but Yuuri reaches over and pats Yuri’s knee gently.

“I’m glad you’re feeling a bit better,” he says, with that soft, genuine smile that drive Yuri insane sometimes.

Yuri shrugs and turns back to his phone, hoping that Yuri doesn’t notice the flush on his cheeks. It’s hard not to feel flustered when Yuuri is being all nice and genuine, okay? It’s a normal, involuntary reaction. 

Yuuri turns away then and leans into Viktor’s side, still tucked under his arm. Yuri focuses back on his phone. First, he sends a text back to Otabek: “ _thanks, can’t wait to see you again”_ and sends it after five minutes of careful deliberation. He chews at his bottom lip for a moment, then thinks to send Mila a quick text: “ _thanks”._ He’ll probably never hear the end of it, but he figures she deserves it.

He puts his phone away then and settles in to watch the movie, pulling the blankets snugly around his shoulders and burrowing into the couch, one hand resting on Makkachin’s back, fingers tangled in soft fur.

As far as post-birthday-hangover-days go, Yuri admits to himself alone that this isn't the worst way to spend it.

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first time writing Yurio, let alone from his perspective, so if anything feels off I'm just still feeling him out and trying to get his voice down!
> 
> Huge thank you to [deerna](http://deerna.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, who helped me with this fic.
> 
> Come join me on [tumblr](http://pensversusswords.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
